Should Have Known Better
by Lucinda
Summary: Spike contemplates a terrible miscalculation that turned out to have a heavy cost.  AU season 7.


author: Lucinda  
rating: pg 13 for angst  
pairings: sort of S/B, sort of W/S, X/A, mention of past tense W/T  
disclaimer: I do not own anyone from BtVS  
set in/post AU season 7.

Spike sat inside the mausoleum, a cigarette burning in his hand. He was staring into the corner, lost in memories, a handful of pages held in one hand. The smoke that curled around him was the only sign of movement in the crypt, and the night outside was quiet.

Things in Sunnydale weren't the same anymore. Things had changed, fallen apart. What made it much worse were two tiny little details. First, he cared now, having become emotionally attached to some of the mortals that had been here. Secondly, all of this could have been prevented, if he'd only done a few things differently.

He could feel it stirring inside of him, the voices and screams of all the people that he'd wronged before. There was a new refrain now, in a voice that sounded curiously like his own, mingled with Angel. 'You could have stopped this. You could have made certain that we didn't loose Willow. She would still be here if only... If only...'

Knowing that the voices were entirely right, he simply sat there, allowing the voices and memories to run rampant inside of him, clawing and biting until he felt like his insides were bleeding. He had known better, had known how kind and special she was, and even then, he had turned his back on her, abandoning her. Loosing her.

His mind drifted, returning to the time when Willow had come home. She'd gone away to England, a desperate effort to control her problems with magic, problems that Buffy had called addiction, and Anya had called the magic taking control. She'd left to get better, to be the Willow they knew and loved once more, helpful Willow instead of evil Willow.

Willow had lost weight in England, not that she'd had any to spare. Her eyes were green again, and looked impossibly large, and oddly sunken, over hollow cheeks. She'd been trying to be 'the old Willow again', only to be met with suspicion and distrust from Buffy and Xander. Anya was viewing the whole situation with apparent indifference, as if Willow's presence or absence had no impact on her life.

He'd seen how that shunning had hurt her, seen the hurt and confusion in her eyes. He could have been there for her, could have listened to her talk about her pain as he'd done when he'd still been chained in Giles' bathtub. They'd been something close to friends back then, before he'd become obsessed with the Slayer. She'd been there even after his mind had been filled with Buffy, listening to him talk about the Slayer with her pain almost hidden in her eyes. Pain that he'd chosen to pretend he didn't see.

But he hadn't sought her company, hadn't asked if she was feeling alright. Instead, he'd merely asked if her magic was under control now. There had been a complex blend of pain and shame and worry in her voice when she'd answered, her words being that she wouldn't have any more magical accidents.

Tara was gone, so Willow had no lover to hold her at night, nobody to kiss away the tears that he knew she shed at night, when the loneliness threatened to swallow her. Loneliness from being excluded from the social invitations, from being distinctly aware that she was not welcome at the Summer's house. Loneliness from her only friends in the world turning away from her, ignoring her pain.

She'd tried to talk to him, asking if she could have a word in private, never quite explaining what she might want to talk to him about.

But he never found the time to give her a few minutes.

He was too busy chasing Buffy, trying to show her that he had changed, that he was no longer a soul-less killer. To prove himself worthy of her notice, her love. He would have done anything for Buffy at that point, and it seemed such a little thing to spend his time with Buffy instead of Willow, or helping Dawn study.

Willow had been drowning in her pain and misery, and he was too busy staring at Buffy to notice. Too captivated by golden locks to pay heed to Willow's tears, or notice the way she had become even thinner and paler since her return.

The last time anyone had ever saw her was the little New Year's party at Xander's apartment. To his shame, he couldn't even remember if they'd invited her, or if she had simply learned of it and shown up. She had been there, in a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved pain as they laughed and talked around her. As if she wasn't there.

The New Year's resolutions had started, with everyone making hopeful goals for the coming year, carefully not using the word 'wish'.

"I resolve to get better grades" had been Dawn's first one.

Xander had followed "And I resolve to never break Anya's heart again by being an idiot."

Anya had kissed Xander before making her own "I resolve to try to talk about orgasms less in public."

"To be a more dedicated Slayer." From Buffy, and "Not to make a horrible mess of another relationship."

He didn't think anyone but him had heard Willow's whispered words, words that carried absolutely no emotion, or perhaps so much and so many emotions that like light blending into white, you couldn't pick one from the others. "I resolve never again to force my company and my pain where it isn't welcome."

Maybe if he'd have talked to her even then, it wouldn't have been too late. Maybe they could have salvaged something. But he didn't, too busy trying to get a 'kiss for luck' from Buffy to welcome in the new year.

The envelopes had been there when they had woke up, groggy and in a few cases hung over from the champaign. Each one of them had a letter, with their name printed in Willow's careful lettering. Each letter contained careful offering of luck for their fondest hopes and dreams for the new year, carefully listed as a sign that she had been listening, that she knew their hopes and desires. Anya's envelope had also contained the few documents and items that she needed to have a legal human existence.

There had been one for him as well, thick with pages and carefully slipped in the inner pocket of his duster. The letter wished him luck in finding someone that could appreciate him for the man that he was, as well as accept the demon that he had become. Someone who could appreciate the poetry that still lurked within him, someone worthy of his devotion. It expressed her sorrow that he too had viewed her actions as unforgivable, for why else, her letter asked, would he shun her like the others? Why else could he not spare even a few moments to listen to her, or even to tell her about his passionate desire to possess Buffy.

His undead heart had lurched when he saw the rest of what was inside his envelope. There was a detailed schematic of the chip in his head, and several pages of both technological methods that might deactivate it, the proper surgical approach to remove it, or a listing of magical means, 'to be attempted by someone who's control you trust'.

Willow had given him the means to get rid of the chip. She'd been trying to give them to him for months, and he'd never been willing to take a few minutes to see what she wanted. To let her help him, to allow her to give him back his pride, his freedom.

He couldn't believe that she'd spent part of the time she had been supposed to heal in trying to find a way to help him. When he'd abandoned her, tried to kill her, betrayed the whole group time and again. Lusted after her friend, belittled and insulted her and the others time and again. She had done this for him... because she had cared. Because she had come to see him as a friend, and it bothered her to see her friends in pain.

And she had become convinced that her presence in Sunnydale was causing them all pain. That they couldn't stand to see her, to look at her. Because none of them would talk to her, listen to her, offer any sympathy for her pain, or even acknowledge that it was there. She had left to 'spare them the ordeal of seeing her.' She had said that 'to ease their minds, this time she wouldn't be back.'

He believed her.

At first, the others hadn't wanted to believe it. Buffy had called it a 'shameless ploy for attention.' Dawn had wondered if it was a desperate cry for attention. Xander had been in denial, certain that Willow would never leave them, that she couldn't live with out her friends to support her. Spike had slowly pointed out that they hadn't been supporting her. They hadn't talked to her, hadn't made her feel welcome. They hadn't asked if she was alright, only if her power was under control. They didn't invite her to hang out to watch movies, only to research demons and prophecies. Was that their idea of support?

But they had been forced to concede that he was right. They hadn't supported Willow. Even then, they had searched for her, certain that the emotionally wounded redhead wouldn't have left. Not really. How could she leave them? Didn't she know that they needed her?

They had done too good a job convincing her that they hadn't needed her. That she was not needed or welcome in Sunnydale. That she no longer had a place among them. Now, she was gone.

He hadn't told anyone what Willow had left in his envelope. Let them assume it was no more than good wishes for the new year. He had realized that of all the people he knew, the only one he would have trusted to try to magic out the chip was Willow, even if her control was a bit shaky. He trusted Willow not to try to hurt him, or keep him powerless 'as a safety precaution'. He realized too late how much it had helped him get through the nights to see her, with her flame like hair and eyes the color of summer leaves. How much her kindness had meant to him. How much she had cared about him.

It wasn't until she was gone that he realized how easily he could have fallen in love with her, if he'd only taken the time to pay attention. Willow would never reject him simply due to his status as a vampire. She would never use him for sex and throw him out, claiming that he meant nothing to her. She would have cherished his affection.

But she was gone. He really should have known better. They all should have known better. But they had done it anyway. They had driven Willow away.

What made it hurt even worse was the not knowing. They had no idea where she had gone. They didn't know if she had left, or if she had killed herself, or if she'd been hospitalized from some horrible accident, or killed by some demon. She was gone, and they had no way to find her. Nothing but memories and a guilt that burned like acid.

Buffy had become someone almost unrecognizable, driven by guilt and anguish to become the 'perfect slayer'. She had stopped trying to have a normal life, and seemed to have stopped feeling things as well, becoming cold and hard. Dawn had run away, and had somehow ended up in LA, living with some guy named Conner. Xander and Anya had gotten back together, and were planning to leave Sunnydale, claiming that the place devoured lives and hopes.

Now, he was the only one left to remember her. The only one who still cared how much they had lost. And he was perfectly willing to let the guilt and grief and the madness of his hard-won soul destroy the semblance of normal that he had. Perhaps the identity of Spike would be a fitting sacrifice, suitable atonement for what they had done to Willow.

All he knew anymore was that they had lost her. And he should have known better.

end.


End file.
